Roulette
by ShadowDanseur
Summary: "His enjoyment of travel isn't what's changed: it's his reason for wanting to stay home". My interpretation of the iPod shuffle idea. A series of one-shots based around Tony and Ziva's relationship; unconnected unless otherwise stated. Songs are listed at the beginning of each chapter.
1. Carrying Your Love With Me

_**Author's Note: These are all unconnected (unless otherwise stated) and have nothing in common except a Tony/Ziva relationship. **_

_**Disclaimer: Not mine - not now, not ever.**_

_**Spoilers: None.**_

* * *

Carrying Your Love With Me – George Strait

* * *

Travel has always been a part of his job – a big part; in fact, it is one of his favorite parts of the job (barring his months spent as agent afloat). He enjoys seeing the world, and it is an added bonus that he doesn't have to do it on his dime. He's earned the reputation over the years as being the first to volunteer for these assignments, so he should not have been surprised that he was tasked for this one.

His enjoyment of travel isn't what's changed: it's his reason for wanting to stay home. It's knowing that he's here, when she's not; knowing that he should be there with her, instead of in this hotel room with Tim.

Nothing against McGeek.

He wonders when he's become so attached, thinks it probably happened a while ago and he's only just now letting himself realize it. Only recently has he finally reached the point where he's ready to admit it all, to finally open himself up again – completely. He's come a long way, he knows, but he attributes most of it to her: he's ready because of her, ready for her, ready with her. It's him and it's her and it's _them_, and this time he really thinks it will work because it's them and he wants it.

He wants it, and so does she.

He waits until Tim passes out on the bed closest to the bathroom and then lets himself quietly out of the room. Even at eight thirty on a Tuesday night, New York is bustling with activity. He tries not to think about what they would be doing if she were here with him: going to dinner at a fancy restaurant, wandering around Times Square, or maybe just rolling around in the hotel bed …

She answers on the third ring, her voice velvety and rich. "Tony."

"Ever seen a show on Broadway, Zee-vah?" He can't resist adding that little snap to her name.

"Thinking of taking McGee to a play?"

"Tried; he kept complaining how stage actors do everything 'too big'."

Her chuckle drifts down to him across the line. He loves that sound.

"I was thinking you might like it, actually."

"Another time, yes?"

"Yeah." He's still a little bummed, runs a hand through his hair and resigns himself to being here without her.

"Where is McGee?"

"Asleep, like you should be." He does not understand how she can operate on so little sleep; he gets grumpy when he doesn't get his beauty sleep.

"It is not that late, Tony."

He is much more adept now at reading between the lines, and he picks up on her meaning immediately and with ease, because it is the same for him: they have become so accustomed to sharing a bed that now, on the few occasions that they do not sleep together, they find sleep hard to come by. Circumstances permitting, they often spend these nights just as they are now: phones pressed to their respective ears, not necessarily always speaking, but always connected, always sharing the silence.

At least, this is how they are when they are alone, and don't have to pretend otherwise. This is how they are when no one is around, when they don't have to be wary of getting caught.

He hates having to pretend that there is nothing between them; hates leaving one of their apartments at different times to make sure they don't arrive together too often and raise suspicion.

"We can't keep this up, Ziva," He says quietly, "It's been four months."

"I know. We will get clean soon."

"Come clean," He corrects her.

This is his favorite time of day.


	2. I Don't Know

I Don't Know – Celine Dion

* * *

She isn't sure how they got here.

He is sore and bruised and maybe she's still a little angry with him, so when he tries to make a joke and make light of the situation she loses her cool. She knows the outburst is unexpected by the surprise she sees on his face, but that doesn't stopper the flow of her words.

"This is not a joke, Tony, and that was not funny!"

"Whoa! Okay, Ziva, I get it – sorry."

He holds up both hands in a sign of surrender, but the sight just unnerves her more. The palm of his right hand is clean but still raw and red where the pavement chewed up the skin, and his left forearm is bandaged where it took the edge of the knife; she can still remember the swiftness with which their suspect swept the blade to his neck, and the barest hint of a second in which he brought up his arm to protect his throat.

He has faced death more times than either of them can count; she knows that. Rationally, she knows that the danger is over, that he is safe and just a foot or so away from her in the safety of her apartment. The knowledge does not banish the memory, however, and knowing that he is safe now does not mean that he will be tomorrow.

She has only just finally found him, really found him in that private, primal way reserved only for lovers … the idea of losing him is so terrifying and heady that she can't stop the outburst.

"I told you not to go in there alone!" She yells, "We were thirty feet away – you could have waited!"

"We didn't have time to wait – I had the advantage of surprise. I had a split second to decide, Ziva, and I chose to go with it."

"Well you chose wrong!"

There are many things in her life that she can do, many obstacles that she has overcome and hardships she has bested. She is skilled in many things, and well-versed in many arts; she is a strong person, resilient even.

She can survive almost anything, and damn near has.

There is, however, one thing that she knows she could never come back from: the loss of Tony DiNozzo, her friend, her partner, and her lover.

"Hey," He says as he moves toward her, and his voice has changed from one of defense to one of soothing concern.

"He would have killed you, Tony. He was aiming for your throat." She is fighting so many emotions that it feels like a steady pressure is building within her, threatening to pull her apart.

He is reaching for her when she crashes into him, seeking out his lips with her own as she presses hungry, frantic kisses to his mouth. He meets her with an equal fervor, their bodies pressed into one another in a tangle of limbs and heat.

She forgets his wounds, forgets that just moments ago she was yelling at him and instead focuses all her energy on re-committing his body to memory. She pulls away long enough to whisk his shirt off over his head, hers following seconds later; the bedroom is too far away, so she navigates them toward the couch as he presses gossamer kisses along the expanse of her throat.

He pins her against the cushions; she grips the taut muscles of his biceps and anchors herself to him.

They spend the rest of the night on the couch.


	3. Gypsy

Gypsy – Fleetwood Mac

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Saturday mornings, he has learned, are for cleaning. He uncovered this little fact accidentally, the first time he stayed the night at her apartment and woke to find her doing the dishes. He still likes to tease her about it, because he knows what a bear she can be in the mornings; his little Israeli loves her sleep, and momentarily despises anyone who interrupts it. So he was surprised to discover that her first act on a Saturday morning was to clean – after several cups of coffee, of course.

They have been in this secret relationship long enough for it to be normal now for him to stay the night, especially on the weekends, and he has become a part of that routine. They wake up Saturdays, make a pot of coffee without saying much of anything, and then Ziva will put her iPod on the stereo base and pick whatever she is in the mood for that day.

The cleaning, although he does not mind it, is not what makes Tony secretly look forward to Saturday mornings. Oh no – he looks forward to watching Ziva, his enigmatic partner and girlfriend, dance.

He's not sure she realizes that she does it, and in a way he hopes that maybe she doesn't. There's something about it that feels … intimate almost, as if he's witnessing a secret that the rest of the world is blind to. It always starts the same: he hears her start to hum when a song she really likes starts to play, and that's when he knows to pay attention. The humming is the precursor, because within seconds she starts to dance. Some days it's just a gentle swaying of her hips as she stands at the sink, or a quicker sort of sashay as she moves around the living room; on the occasion that it's a particularly upbeat or beloved song, he's seen her stop what she is doing completely to dance out a few beats before continuing on. She never pays him any attention when she does this, and he likes that too. He likes that she is comfortable enough and secure enough with him to forget that he is there – to truly be herself around him.

He really loves the dancing though. There's something intoxicating about watching Ziva dance; she seems to have an inherent sense of rhythm, but it's more than that. He loves watching the lines of her body as she twists one or another, and while there is something distinctly sensual and sexual about it, there's also something deeper: a freedom and a joy that piques an answering joy within him. No matter what kind of week they have had, what new or old horrors they have had to face, she is perfectly happy in these moments, and he is happy to watch her.

Saturdays are quickly becoming his favorite days, and it has nothing to do with the cleaning.


	4. Breathe Me

_**Author's Note: This chapter mentions (briefly) adult themes - a.k.a, sex. If you are not comfortable with that, please feel free to skip this one. Otherwise let me know what you think! I will admit that this chapter is a personal favorite of mine. =)**_

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Breathe Me – Sia

* * *

She has perfected the art of disappearing, of melding herself into nothing more than shadows and smoke so that she can move like a breeze through the air. She is proud of this ability, not only because of its usefulness but because of the sheer amount of time she's devoted to perfecting it. She has used this ability to take lives, and to save them.

Her pride in this skill is equal only to her hatred of it.

Ziva learned long ago that there is a big difference in being noticed and being seen. There are many things she can do to get herself noticed, all depending upon the situation and how she wants to be noticed. A gun pointed squarely in a suspect's face; a carefully chosen dress that hugs her curves in a way that she knows will not go unappreciated; there are countless others, of course, and she has used many of them repeatedly.

Despite this, there is very little she can do to make herself feel as though she's truly being seen. This is a problem she has struggled with all her life, since the loss of Tali and her mother, a problem that only grew worse over the years as she perfected the art of disappearing.

It is a problem that, she has discovered, has an unexpected solution: Tony DiNozzo.

He sees her in a way that she could never have told him to, had she ever been taken with the notion to try. He sees her, the real Ziva that's been hidden for so many years, in ways that she is sometimes unprepared for.

She is learning that he translates her need in unique and wonderful ways that she did not expect to love. Stolen moments in the bullpen, little gestures that would go unnoticed by others and yet have taken on a private meaning for them; all these things he does without needing to be told, without any outward motivation from her.

This intimacy reaches a new peak for them when she discovers that this ability of his translates all the way into the bedroom. He knows without asking when she needs soft kisses trailed down the length of her body; entire hours devoted to rediscovering one another in the pale glow of moonlight, hours that end with names whispered like forbidden prayers into the darkness. He also knows when the opposite is called for: clothes strewn across the floor in a mad rush to claim one another, fingers tangled in her hair as they devour each other with wanton abandon.

She has never experienced this before; all her life Ziva has felt as though she were written in a code that no other human being understands. Until now; until Tony came along to unravel the mysteries of her being. She revels in the knowledge that he sees her so clearly, that she is no longer an unknown entity in the universe. Tony knows her, he sees her; she wears this knowledge close to her chest, like armor, a tiny beacon of light within her heart no matter how far into the shadows she must delve.

There is something indescribably beautiful, Ziva knows, in being seen by Tony DiNozzo.


	5. Box of Stones

Box of Stones - Benjamin Francis Leftwich

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There are several inherent obstacles to a relationship that involves people like them; challenges that do not simply disappear overnight, no matter how much they value one another or their relationship (or how long its taken them to get to this place).

Fights are inevitable when a relationship is made up of two very stubborn, guarded people; she reminds herself of this on days like today, when she has watched Tony disappear out the door in a fit of anger with nothing to accompany him but the sound of her anger.

She doesn't remember exactly what started the fight, but they were in the middle of it before she'd realized what had really happened. She is still trying to teach herself that Tony is not an enemy, that he is safe and can be trusted to be inside her walls, but the lesson is not an easy one. On the other hand, she knows that Tony still has a hard time letting her in as well: he does not deflect her with jokes or subterfuge as often, but there are still times when it gets the best of him.

This is at the root of their fight today, she knows; they have reverted back to old ways, and it is straining their relationship. Strangely, she does not fear that it will break – she cannot say why, but even in these moments of turmoil she feels the certainty of Tony, of them.

She is not surprised – not truly – when her door opens an hour or so later to reveal a calm and contrite Tony, a disposable coffee cup in one hand. She knows that it is not coffee he has brought her; rather, it is a Chai tea and – more importantly – a peace offering. This is his apology, and it makes her smile, because it is the only one she needs. She crosses the room to plant a kiss on his lips – her apology – and smiles just the tiniest bit when she sees the recognition in his eyes.

They are not perfect, and they still have a long way to go, but she is confident they will get there.


End file.
